


The Whole ‘Being Dead’ Thing

by Selenite_Flowers



Series: ASOUE Fics [2]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, All the Wrong Questions - Lemony Snicket
Genre: E is a loving mother, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I let E Snicket give Lemony a lesson I desperately need to learn oop—, Self Care, She is also a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenite_Flowers/pseuds/Selenite_Flowers
Summary: The Snickets can see ghosts; and if you think Mrs E Snicket would not use that to mother Lemony from beyond the grave you’re wrong.E gives Lemony a stern talking to about self-care.
Relationships: Brief Violet Baudelaire & Beatrice Baudelaire II, E Snicket & Lemony Snicket
Series: ASOUE Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547758
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	The Whole ‘Being Dead’ Thing

E sat on her son’s desk in the little cramped apartment he rented(buying was far less advisable when being hunted by a society fond of arson). It didn’t really bother her that she didn’t feel the desk under her or the air around her. That just meant she didn’t feel how stuffy it was in the room that was both a bedroom and living room because the shutters were closed. It also meant she didn’t have to smell the mould that was clearly growing near the windows no matter how much the landlord denied it.

All in all, being dead had a few perks.

She supposed being able to look after her moody son from beyond the grave was one of them, even if she had been watching him lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling for the past three hours.

Man, hauntings were overrated.

“What _is_ existence?” He muttered, seemingly to the void, after what felt like an eternity.

E sighed and leaned back. “Finally back I see, I thought _I_ was the dead one.”

“Does anyone actually love me or are they just being polite?” Lemony asked the air again.

“Lemony, sweetie, have you had your meds today at all?” E asked, raising an eyebrow.

A pause.

“I haven’t taken them, no,” He said at last.

“You were prescribed them for a reason,” E said sternly. “Go take your antidepressants. Now.”

“They impede my creative process, mother,” Lemony complained, sitting up.

“Lemony. Snicket. That was not a request.” E stood, placing her hands on her hips. Short as she was she wasn’t an especially imposing figure, but even grown her sons knew she would take no nonsense.

“I need this to establish tone, mother,” he explained slowly, as if she were a child. “I channel my own melancholy to make the reader better understand and empathise with horrible situations.”

“I understand the point, Lemony. But if you cannot make the reader empathise with your characters without denying yourself the fix to a problem you can solve, then you’re a poor writer.” E tapped her foot, it didn’t make the noise anymore but it was still satisfying. Especially when her son was being foolish.

“Mother, you aren’t an author, you wouldn’t understand the process—”

“Don’t I?” She snapped. “You haven’t written all day, you’ve just been staring at things and crying. You haven’t showered in three days, and I have to keep reminding you to eat. That is not a constructive process. You’re deliberately making yourself suffer in the benign attempt to make meaningful art.”

Lemony looked offended, but she had definitely struck a nerve. “I—”

“You know if Kit or Jacques were here they’d say the same thing. The only difference is that they’d have dragged you to the bathroom and shove your meds down your throat.” She told him. “I raised them well enough for that.”

Lemony looked at his feet. “I need it. It makes me a better writer.”

“What, depression?” E demanded.

“Yes!”

“I haven’t seen you write so much as one word.”

“It’s a process.”

E sat down on the bed beside him. “Lemony. You are a fantastic writer. Depression doesn’t mean you make better art. It’s nothing but a road block in the way of your art. You shouldn’t rely on it. You can do amazing things without it, as long as you don’t grow dependant.”

“....” Lemony didn’t respond.

“And besides, mental illness isn’t what gives you your moody tone. You’re just Like That.” She’d have flicked his forehead if she could. “I know it’s hard, but your brain needs to make the happy juice, and if it’s being a little bitch about it, you’ve gotta force it.”

“Fine,” he groaned and shook his head. E didn’t miss the small smile at the edge of his lips as he stood up. “They’re in the bathroom cupboard. I’ll go take them.”

“And while you’re in there take a shower,” she suggested. “You stink.”

“You can’t smell, mother,” he informed her, crossing the room.

“It’s an energy you exude,” she told him helpfully.

“Whatever you say,” he said from the bathroom. They fell into comfortable silence as he walked across the small apartment, antidepressants in hand and poured a glass of water to take them with.

E let her eyes wander over to her son’s typewriter. It was at the beginning of a new chapter. Chapter fourteen. She couldn’t help but wonder when her little boy had gotten so grown up. Maybe VFD had stolen his childhood the second they grabbed his ankles. Somewhere along the way losing his parents, Beatrice and Bertrand, Jacques, and Kit must have taken a toll on him.

“You should talk to your landlord about the mould,” she said, breaking the silence. “It could seriously affect your respiratory system.”

“You know I already have mother,” Lemony replied. “He refuses to accept that there is any mould.”

“Hmph,” she narrowed her eyes. “Wish I could give that lout a proper haunting.”

“Mother,” Lemony admonished, shaking his head in exasperation. “Anyway it’s not like it’s a very pressing issue, I’ll be gone in a few weeks. I have a meeting with my editor soon. Or rather, you do. Then we’re out of here. Do you think you can get the manuscript to the location?”

“Of course I can,” she told him. “Nobody’s going to see me. Unless they’re a Snicket.”

“Do you know why we can?” He asked, getting a towel from his closet.

“No idea.” She shrugged.

“Shame.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Anyway, would you mind opening the blinds for me, just while you’re in the shower, it’s a lovely day from what I can tell,” said E.

“Sure thing, mother, but when I’m out I’m closing them again,” he said, grabbing a change of clothes.

“Do you ever get tired of having the blinds closed all the time? You must be able to see in the dark by now,” she joked.

“It’s to keep me safe, mother.” Lemony told her before shutting the door.

E looked out the window as the sound of the shower filled the apartment. The day was bright, but there was a definite breeze, she could see the trees swaying in the wind. She felt a lonely kind of longing. But it was a familiar kind of longing.

Her eyes scanned the path below, a little girl with a beret covering her shock of blonde hair ran down the path. E smiled before reeling back in shock.

_Kit?_

The girl turned and a young woman caught up to her, dark hair flying in the wind. E’s eyes weren’t human anymore, so she made them look a little closer. The little girl’s eyes were the wrong blue, there was a slightly harsher line to her jaw and chin. But otherwise she looked just like Kit. When the girl’s shiny eyes met hers E was startled to realise she could see her.

But that would mean the dark haired woman with her...

The little blonde thing waved to her, smiling. Her guardian looked up, and E could have been looking into a mirror. But no, there was Beatrice’s nose, her cheekbones, even with the Snicket eyes.

She waved back and the woman smiled at her before picking up her charge and walking onward with the young girl on her hip.

E smiled sadly as she watched them leave.

“Oh Beatrice,” she whispered, gripping the curtain as tears pricked her eyes.

Let them have peace now.


End file.
